Getting It
by Gamebird
Summary: Peter and Sylar argue, struggle, tempt and tease each other before finally getting it handled between them. Set in The Wall.
1. Getting It Up

**A/N:** POV shifts from one chapter to the next, back and forth between Peter and Sylar. Also, I have been told by beta readers that an early version of this story contained strong elements of sexual abuse (Peter, towards Sylar). The story has changed a lot since then, but you might keep it in mind as a warning that's less than a warning. Many thanks to dancingdragon3 and especially to means2bhuman for helping me through the very long and arduous writing process this particular fic took.

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Peter slid his hand along Sylar's smooth, bare back, well under the water and just a few inches above the waistline of his swimming trunks. He caught how the guy stiffened and looked back at him. That look on his face! It was lustful and desirous and frustrated all at once. Peter loved how much Sylar wanted him; he had complete power to satisfy (or not) the need that was writ so clear on Sylar's face. It was intoxicating, but he wasn't ready to do any more than tease at the moment. He danced out of range, kicking away and diving under a floating partition to enter one of the marked lanes. He emerged, shook his head briefly to throw off the water, and saw Sylar giving him a much more penetrating look, waiting for the least sign that Peter wanted him to respond. Peter smiled at him with lazy ease and gave no such indication – not yet, at least. "I'm going to do a few laps," Peter told him, pushing off from the wall and starting a backstroke.

They'd been playing at this for quite a while now, circling one another like two stars caught up in one another's gravity wells, getting closer despite the frequent flare-ups. To say that Sylar had a lot of rough edges was an understatement. He wasn't easy to get along with on the best of days – poorly socialized, deeply introverted, reflexively suspicious, and due to the aforementioned, he was also prone to explosions of violence. In short, he was an asshole and that had everything to do with why Peter wasn't interested in giving Sylar what he wanted.

Sylar did have some things going for him. He was hot. He was desperate. He was the only one here and Peter had been a very, very long time without. Those were shallow reasons, but Peter acknowledged them. Knowing what was motivating him worked better than denying it. There were other reasons, too – very complicated other reasons that twisted things up so much that Peter had no idea what was right and wrong anymore. He and Sylar had a lot of shared history. For good or ill, Sylar was the custodian of Nathan's memories. Sylar wanted redemption and in a very real way, Peter was the only person who could give it to him. Being needed so badly did all kinds of good things to Peter's heart.

At the moment, he needed a little alone time to cool down and get his head straight. Various nether parts were really happy with the idea of flirting with the man he'd been spending so much time with recently, a man who had made it clear there was a standing invitation for more, whenever Peter wanted it. Sylar wanted to rush things – to climb on top of him and fuck him into oblivion, according to Sylar's own words. Given that Peter had confessed to only the existence of attraction to Sylar at that point, Sylar's over-sharing declaration had came off threatening and off-putting. Bottoming was not something he was going to do with someone who disrespected him so routinely. But Peter couldn't stop playing with the fire. Someone that scorching hot wanted him that much and was so bald about his desire? Oh yeah. There was no way Peter was going to walk away from that without trying to arrange it in a way he could handle.

They hadn't talked very much about anything sexual and Peter had no idea how to go about that. He was tongue-tied and intimidated about the subject when facing Sylar. There was too much pressure, too much at stake, too much on the line. Which he figured had a lot to do with Sylar's misstep in saying too much. _Maybe if we just make out a little at first?_ Peter wondered as he swam, trying in vain to keep his thoughts on the issue and away from too-explicit imaginings of how they might act them out. _We could kiss, do some petting. That would be safe, right? _He didn't want to go too far. He didn't want to be in Sylar's power, or under him, or controlled by him. The idea scared him. Conversely, the idea of finally turning the tables and having Sylar at his beck and call? It made him hard every time he thought of it.

Peter was resting for a moment at the end of the pool when Sylar pulled himself out of the water, exiting much more gracefully than he'd entered. Long, lean lines of lovely limbs shed water like something out of a television commercial. Peter stared, his less-than-polite ogling enabled by Sylar facing away. Then the man stretched, turning a little so Peter could see a sleek profile of flat stomach, furred chest, and rounded shoulders. He could make out the mostly shuttered eyes. Oh yes, Sylar was deliberately putting on a show. Peter blushed, grinned, and made a head gesture like he was going to look away, but he did anything but. When the display became more obvious, Peter shook his head and started another lap, trying the breaststroke this time. He didn't want to respond too obviously, or let Sylar know how affected he was.

A few minutes later, Peter swam up to the edge and lifted himself, his head popping over the lip of the pool. Elbows out, forearms flat against the floor, one hand was stacked over the other with his chin resting on top. Or at least, appearing to rest on top. It was a difficult pose to maintain as he was too high out of the water to take advantage of buoyancy, but he had the upper body strength to manage it for the moment. There was a hell of a lot of posturing going on between them and they were both well aware of it.

He looked at Sylar hungrily where he was reclined in one of the pool chairs. He'd dried off, hanging his neatly folded towel over the back of his chair, with a fresh one sitting on a second chair pulled up closer to his own than friends usually did. Sylar was leaning back, one leg slightly crooked and his head lolled to one side. There was plenty of light in here, but not enough sun to truly sunbathe. Sylar didn't have a book or magazine and he was too far away from the water to easily and directly ogle Peter when he was swimming. He noticed the scrutiny, though, opening his mostly shut eyes to raise a brow in silent question.

"Are you waiting on me?" Peter asked, his voice pitching a bit higher than it should have. He blamed his position. It couldn't possibly be anticipation, could it?

"For as long as I have to," Sylar answered, his face a mix of soft yearning and steely determination. How much he wanted Peter was so clear, so delicious, so thrilling. Peter shut his eyes for a moment, letting a shiver pass through him unimpeded. He knew he was going to satisfy the need they both felt burning inside of them. It was all a matter of when. But not quite yet. Peter found himself enjoying the tension between them, playing with it, teasing, and getting away with it. With a blushing grin, Peter pushed off from the edge. "Just a couple more laps," he called out, knowing he couldn't keep himself away any longer than that.


	2. Getting It On

Sylar watched Peter rise from the pool, a modern-day Adonis. It gave him cause to remember that Italians posed as models for the Roman and Grecian sculptors whose work was so often upheld as the epitome of the human form. Well, except for the small penis the statues usually sported. He had reason to believe Peter's endowments were much more generous, especially if the current, eye-catching tenting going on in Peter's swim trunks was an indication. Sylar couldn't stop looking at that, watching how the wet cloth clung and shifted, trying to imagine the details of the columnar shape. A quick shake of Peter's head sent droplets flying, a few hitting Sylar's bare feet as he rested in the pool chair, making his toes flex and squirm in response. He just hoped he'd get to do more than look at a distance. His fingers itched to touch and explore where, for now, only his gaze could go. Not that he minded. What Peter was doing to him was a fascinating inversion of the hunt. Sylar couldn't tell if he was predator or prey – if he was luring Peter to him or being pursued. Either way, he liked it.

Peter prowled over to him, smirking when he saw Sylar's obvious sight-line. He stopped less than an inch away at the foot of the pool chair, drawing himself up. Muscles flexed slightly as he rose on his toes and settled, hands on hips and head tilted. Sylar felt himself flush from the direct, unabashed scrutiny. He gripped the arms of the chair more tightly, feeling a heaviness growing in his groin. He didn't know what his expected role was. Roles made him comfortable because they gave him a script.

Not sure what else to do, he leered, looking Peter up and down like he was something to eat. He over-sold it, smiling broadly and exuding a confidence he didn't feel, ignoring the nervous butterflies in his stomach. Peter's face made a small, perplexed frown as the sparkle in his eyes turned to a suspicious glint at the falseness. With a sharp chill shooting through him at how quickly he'd been seen through, Sylar shifted gears. He extended a foot and rubbed his big toe up and down Peter's shin in quick, solicitous motions. He dropped the fake grin and let his expression do what it would, which was to raise brows in concern and widen eyes in fear that he was going to screw this up before it even started. He wanted Peter's attention and approval more than anything else and it looked like he might finally get some positive proof of it.

Peter's visage cleared, replaced by intensity – slightly furrowed brows and direct, unflinching eye contact. Sylar felt like he was under a microscope as Peter moved forward to straddle Sylar's chair, literally standing over him in two quick strides. Before Sylar could process that Peter was almost on top of him, the man leaned in, one hand coming down on the arm of the pool chair, the other on the frame of the back. Eyes fixed on Sylar's, Peter dipped. He paused a hand's breadth away, a stray lock of water-darkened hair falling over his face, shedding a cold drop on Sylar's chest. It felt like an electrical shock. He pulled in a sharp breath, heart pounding from all the mixed feelings he was having. _This is really going to happen!_ All he could think about was how he'd taken Elle when the opportunity presented itself, and so he tried the same with Peter. His hand snaked behind Peter's neck and pulled him in the rest of the way, lips locking over Peter's, sucking at his mouth, expecting to have it taken away from him at any moment.

But it wasn't. Peter leaned into the kiss, settling down until Sylar felt his wet, cool trunks press over his own, crotch to crotch. Sylar's already stiffening dick surged. He couldn't stop the bodily jerk he made, eyes flying wide at the weird, pleasurable pressure. His free hand left the arm of the chair to touch tentatively, fingertips only, against Peter's sides, as he wriggled and shifted under the occupant of his lap. He liked that. He could feel Peter's groin, hard and soft against him, but he wasn't brave enough to drop his hand to feel him out. His head was spinning, breath coming in fast, noisy pants against Peter's cheek. Peter tried to turn his head, but Sylar prevented it. One hand still holding Peter's head where he wanted it, he brought the other to the side of Peter's face, cupping his cheek to keep him still as he mouthed over him clumsily. He could taste the chlorine on Peter's skin and feel the faint bristles with his lips as he worked the skin around Peter's mouth. More chilled drops of water fell on him, every one a small jolt. He could feel Peter's wet hair trailing against his face as the other man squirmed in his grip, trying to move in ways Sylar was resisting.

Finally, with a couple of determined tugs, Peter pushed off from where he was still braced on the arm and back of the pool chair, pulling his head free of Sylar's grasp and rocking back on Sylar's hips in the process. It was a wave of penile sensation that made Sylar completely forget about Peter yanking away. He let his head fall back, mouth open and eyes shut as he rolled his hips into Peter's body, opening his eyes again at the deep, breathy exhalation Peter made in response. Sylar chuckled deep in his throat at how flushed Peter was, with the heavy lids and puffy lips. He'd never seen anyone look so ready to fuck.

"Finally going to give it up to me, are you?" Sylar gloated with a smug grin. "I've had your mouth. Let's see what the rest of you is like." He reached out possessively, trying to tug Peter forward by pulling at his mostly-folded knees.

Peter jerked like he'd been slapped, the crude insult making him flush redder and bare his teeth. Three blinks later, he was up off Sylar's lap and the expression of desire had vanished like it was never there. Cool air rushed in where Peter's warmth used to be pressed against Sylar, a loss that Sylar grabbed after futilely. Peter got out of his reach and turned to glare at him, arms braced stiffly at his sides, hands curling into fists. Sylar pulled back, retreating into his chair. His head tucked down and shoulders came up, hands loose and ready between them to fend off blows that didn't come.

It was words instead. "Fuck you!"

"Go fuck yourself, then!" he rejoined, angry that Peter wasn't going to give him what he wanted. Obviously, he had misread him, thinking Peter would surely be as vulnerable and receptive as Elle had been. Snarling, he turned his face away and watched out of the corner of his eye as Peter stalked away to the showers, with the distinct feeling he'd have been happier if Peter had stuck around and kicked the crap out of him instead (and a lot happier if, after kicking the crap out of him, Peter had had his way with him). He lay there silently until long after Peter had left the spooky quiet of the pool room, plotting his revenge for the unwarranted rejection. Peter had a breaking point and if Sylar was good at one thing, it was in pushing people past that.


	3. Getting It Out

Peter had had as much of Sylar's crap as he could take. He shoved Sylar against the wall, one hand to the middle of the asshole's chest. It was just a simple shove, not a sternum thrust or anything dangerous. Sylar went, not bothering to defend himself. He looked like he'd expected it. Wanted it, maybe, if the way he flexed against the wall, panting through parted lips and watching Peter with half-hooded eyes was any indication. He looked like the very picture of lust.

Peter wanted that so much, so badly. But every time he got close to Sylar, the man turned to insults and insinuations that Peter was his, along with boasts about what he was going to do with and to Peter's body. It frightened Peter and the fear translated into anger, and physical force. There were few things that got his ire up like the casual assumption on Sylar's part that Peter's desire made him Sylar's plaything.

With a choked noise of exasperation, Peter grabbed Sylar by the shoulder and spun him, putting him face-first to the brick so he didn't have to look at his lewd face. The whole reason why they were fussing was that Sylar _would not stop flirtin__g _since the incident at the pool. Comments like, 'When are we going back to the pool? I like you best when you're _wet_' had done nothing good for their already difficult relationship. It took Peter a half second to realize Sylar had let Peter position him without resistance or snark, a first in days, but then again, this was the physically closest they'd gotten. Peter had been pointedly keeping his distance after the difficulty at the pool - having his head held where he didn't want it and then getting insulted for giving in to it. He wouldn't make that mistake again. Now, he blinked at Sylar's back, his own shoulders slumping and breath slowing. He felt tired – tired of fighting with Sylar over something they obviously both wanted but just couldn't seem to make work.

His eyes were distracted by the motion of Sylar splaying his hands out to either side, turning his head to one side and tucking in his chin. Sylar waited quiet and still, eyes sliding shut despite the tension that outlined the stiff way he stood. Peter waited a long beat. Under other circumstances, such a capitulation would have been accompanied by Sylar running his mouth. Nothing was said. It looked like a surrender of sorts. Peter hoped like hell it was – that would be so incredible, to have Sylar at his mercy at last.

Peter tested Sylar's intent. He reached out and roughly jostled Sylar's shoulder with the extended fingers of his right hand. It was like a hard poke, but it wasn't going to hurt him. Aside from opening his eyes and flicking them back without moving his head, Sylar barely reacted. Peter knew he was being manipulated and drawn in, but he didn't mind. He wanted it – wanted Sylar to want him, to ask for him, to beg him. He put his hand on Sylar again; same place, but this time he left it there. He could feel the warmth under his palm, the soft fabric of the form-fitting cotton t-shirt Sylar was wearing. Sylar made the smallest vocalization and swayed a half-inch or so in the direction of Peter's touch. It made Peter's heart melt and other parts harden.

Peter rolled his hand over Sylar's rounded deltoids and down to the biceps, fingers toying with the edge of the sleeve. Sylar's eyes shut again and a faint smile, unseen by Peter, played across his lips for only a second. Peter stepped closer, slotting his feet in on the inside edge of both of Sylar's, giving them each a little nudge, enough that Sylar accommodatingly spread a few inches more for him.

Cautiously, Peter held himself stiff and straight, not molding himself to Sylar's body like he'd like to. He was so tense he hurt. A few offensive words from Sylar could ruin this, and Peter had no control over that. He didn't want another fight. He wanted to do this – he wanted tenderness, hot sex, affection, and attention. He wanted respect and joy and all those things that were in his fantasies, but the man he was dealing with wasn't a fantasy. He was real, he was autonomous, he was dangerous, and unpredictable. He could do anything, and so Peter moved carefully.

Barely containing his breathing, he put one hand on the brick next to Sylar's head and dropped the other under Sylar's arm to run down his side. It provoked another stifled whine and a shift towards the touch. That was so exciting. Peter's breath pushed out in a rush. He tugged up the man's shirt and touched bare skin directly, his breath catching in a rough chuckle of disbelief that this was actually working so far. Sylar sank down, pushing his ass sharply and abruptly backwards into Peter's groin, catching Peter's swelling cock at the wrong angle and bending it painfully. Peter hissed and shoved him flat against the wall again, struggling against the animal desire to hurt the guy in retaliation. He leaned in, face at the level of the taller man's neck. "Stay," he whispered hoarsely, "where I put you."

Peter was panting hard now. He hadn't realized how much his excitement had spiraled up until he went to speak, finding his voice rough and his heart racing. Now his face was right here, inches from Sylar's skin, close enough to smell the sweat the man was exuding, to see a bead of it slide free from the fine hairs over his temple and travel down the stubble of his cheek. Without thought, Peter licked off that salty moisture, causing a shudder to run through them both. Fingers clenched against the masonry – both Sylar's and Peter's - and Peter went on to gently kiss the nape of Sylar's neck, parting his lips to tease the tip of his tongue across him, tasting the delicious skin. Sylar's breath stopped for a moment. Bracing his forehead on Sylar's shoulder, Peter let both hands fall to Sylar's hips, circling there and tormenting his increasingly restless partner with an implication of more that he didn't deliver. Not yet. Not until they talked a little, worked something out, until Peter had the assurance he needed that this was going to play out okay for both of them.

"Mmm," Peter purred, rubbing his cheek across Sylar's shoulder and luxuriating in breathing in his warmth. "I'm not going to be giving it up, Sylar. That's not how this is going to go."

Sylar made a derisive chuckling that irritated the hell out of Peter even in his lust-addled state. "Tell me how you think things will go down, Peter, because I assure you that _you_ will be going down."

"What?" He shoved him, hard, against the unforgiving brick.

Sylar grunted, air expelled, then writhed against the wall slowly and lasciviously. "I'm giving you want you want – a justification."

"I don't want a '_justification'_," Peter spat out. He backed away, hands trembling as the adrenaline made him shocky. It was falling apart, had already fallen apart. Sylar glanced back at him, looking incredulous that Peter wasn't with the program. Peter said, "I want some respect, appreciation ..." He shook his head. He sounded like a loser to have to say that, to beg for someone to treat him right. Shame ran through him. He made his escape before it got worse.

"Peter!"

He didn't turn – just kept walking.


	4. Getting It Together

Respect. Appreciation. Sylar knew the definitions of the words, but that was no help. In Sylar-speak, they both translated to 'sucking up', which he had thought he was good at, but apparently he wasn't doing it right. When Sylar aggressing hadn't worked, he'd thought what Peter wanted was an excuse to aggress himself. So he'd created that opportunity – but apparently he'd been wrong again. He stayed away from Peter for the next few days, trying to figure that out. For one thing, he thought he _did _respect Peter. And what appreciation was there to show? Was he supposed to thank Peter for being there? For being willing to put up with his existence? That seemed really … petty. Plus, he didn't want to do it. It was galling that Peter might be right – Sylar wanted to give him whatever he wanted, but these two things apparently he wasn't giving enough of. If he wanted to get laid, which he did, then he was going to have to play the role his partner wanted.

That role did not involve Sylar calling the shots. That was terrifying to contemplate, especially given the things that had happened in Sylar's life. He'd never been safe except when he was in control. Would he be safe if he let Peter say how things would go, which seemed to be how Peter wanted to play things? The time at the pool and again at the wall, he'd been safe enough while Peter was in charge. Sylar could put together that it was only after he'd challenged that Peter became difficult. In each case, Peter had quit the scene entirely, which was not helpful, but it was certainly educational – being ignored by Peter was more painful than anything else the Petrelli had done to him. It motivated Sylar a lot, probably more than any drubbing would have.

He was thinking about this as he sat in his apartment, working on a small mantel clock, when he heard Peter's familiar, heavy tread in the stairwell. A few moments later, three sharp raps formally signaled his guest's arrival. "Come in," Sylar called out, trying to look like he wasn't looking as Peter walked in and deposited a plastic bag of fruit on the kitchen table. Peter was dressed as he usually was in a dark, long-sleeved t-shirt with jeans and his thick-soled work shoes. With Peter's back turned, Sylar got an eyeful of sleek, masculine posterior, taking the opportunity to admire. He ducked his head when Peter turned to come back to the living area, not sure if having his interest on blatant display was a good or bad thing. He fiddled anxiously with the needle file he'd been using.

"Got you some apples."

_'How do I like them apples?'_ came to Sylar's mind, but for once he didn't say it, or any of the half-dozen other smart-ass comments about rotten apples, poisoned apples, forbidden fruit, the apple of knowledge, and so on that scuttled through Sylar's easily engaged mind. Instead he looked up and said simply, "Thank you." Peter's gentle, warm smile made Sylar's heart lurch. _Wait, is that it? Is that what he wants? That's … so easy. I wasn't doing that before?_ A quick search of the recent past proved that … no, comments like his first through seventh instincts were the norm. _Those are all challenges. 'Thank you' is receptive. It accepts. It recognizes._

Distantly, he heard Peter say, "I thought they might be your favorite. I noticed it was what you always picked out from the store." Sylar's eyes were still darting back and forth, digging through memories and putting together the mental puzzle that was other people's behavior, when Peter followed up his comment by walking next to him. Sylar's attention was snapped back to the present as fingers dropped to Sylar's forearm, exposed where he'd earlier rolled up the sleeves of his long-sleeved, button-up shirt, so he wouldn't get oil on it as he worked. Peter stroked lightly, fingertips disturbing the dark hairs and then retracing their path to smooth them back down. It felt so good – such a simple, easy touch just like the simple, easy show of gratitude.

It was also very forward. _He wants me. That's why he's petting me – checking to see if I'm okay with him touching me. And he brought me a gift, like … like we're dating or something. I'm not sure what's going on, but d__on't fuck this up! No 'but's, no 'and', no sarcasm … just … let it happen. Let him be in charge. See if it works. _Swallowing nervously, Sylar flipped his arm, keeping his head down as he watched Peter repeat the motions on the softer, more sensitive skin of his inner arm … and then the palm of his hand. Peter's fingers drifted over his own, touching and caressing with a degree of generous, free contact that was all new between them. Sylar stared, blinking, hardly able to breathe as he wondered what came next.

"Thank you," Sylar said again, this time earning a friendly rub to his shoulder before Peter went off to drag back one of the kitchen chairs. He put it right next to Sylar, casually seating himself in it as though it were perfectly natural to have their chairs side by side, legs nearly touching. Sylar wondered what the hell had happened to make Peter so friendly all of a sudden. Perhaps during the few days apart, Peter had been thinking things over, too, and like Sylar, had decided to change his approach.

"What are you doing?" Peter asked, looking at the mantel clock and making a slight gesture at it. His head bobbed to the side as he looked at the mechanisms exposed by the opened case.

Sylar said the obvious, "I _was_ working."

Peter's sharp exhalation and tensing to rise forced the thought through Sylar's brain that 'respectful' might mean not talking to Peter like Peter was an idiot. His voice meek, he rushed the words out to try again. "I mean, I was working on this chronograph. R-right here, I mean ..." He didn't dare to look at Peter, staring at the edge of his work table instead and praying that Peter believed in second chances. If his suspicions were right and Peter was trying to work things out, then he'd stay, wouldn't he?

Peter's posture relaxed slowly. When he spoke, his tone was neutral. "What's wrong with it?"

"Um ..." Weird as it was, he wasn't sure how to answer as Sylar. Talking to people like he believed Peter wanted to be talked to just wasn't … it wasn't really in Sylar's repertoire. But it was in Gabriel's. It wasn't like he didn't know how to do it, how to be normal with someone. _Has it really been that long since I've talked to someone respectfully? Back when I was trying to sell them things and couldn't __**make**__ them give me their money … any more than I can __**make**__ Peter give me anything. _He felt happier, relieved, and surprisingly relaxed to set aside a little of the reflexive, defensive persona he'd worn like armor for so long. It felt strangely honest. Peter's question was non-threatening enough, asking about something Sylar would enjoy telling him about. Sylar smiled awkwardly, feeling very strange in his own skin as he knew Peter wasn't asking out of some sudden curiosity in clocks, but rather a curiosity about _him_ and what he spent his time doing. _Does this mean he likes me? Wait, what does it mean if he really, actually, __**likes**__ me?_

Swallowing his nerves, he explained. "Um, well, I was just oiling it. You have to do that, from time to time, to keep the mechanisms running smoothly." He used the file as a pointer, turning the clock so Peter could better see the places he was indicating. "See, you apply the oil here and here ..." Peter listened attentively, asking the names of a few parts and what sort of repairs Sylar liked to fix the most. He drew a few parallels between repair of timepieces and paramedic work on the human body, but mostly he left the focus on learning about Sylar's interests, prompting with another new question whenever Sylar fell silent.

It was hard for Sylar to focus with his sense of identity fading in and out and the constant press of Peter's knee shifting against his own, but he managed. He was required to break contact so he could put his tools away neatly in their designated drawers. He shot another cautious look at Peter as he sidled back into their previous proximity after he was done. He wasn't sure it was allowed now that they didn't have the clock to look at. _I could get another one …_

Softly, looking down apologetically, Peter said, "I'm sorry I was a bastard the other day."

Sylar didn't know what to say about that. Peter had done nothing unpardonable – pushed him around, felt up his back, led him on a little like he was going to do more, and then walked away. Everything but the walking away Sylar had been quite happy about. There was nothing bastard-y about it, but clearly this was more complicated than 'Peter wants to fuck me'. He glanced over at the apples and thought about the sudden interest in clocks. _He wants more than just getting laid!_ That was almost unbelievable. The faint chance that it was true made his heart pound. Feeling like he was stepping into an emotional minefield (and perfectly willing to do that if it got him the connection he wanted), he offered, "You're allowed."

Peter studied him for a moment, then smiled and nudged his leg in jest. "Thank you for giving me permission to be a bastard, because I'm not promising I won't be one again."

"If the other day was you being a bastard, Peter, then by all means be one more often."

Peter chuckled and nudged his knee again, harder. Voice softer, Peter said, "Sometimes when we get close, you say things that make me feel like … like I'm nothing, no one important, or maybe like I'm someone you want to get one over on. I don't like that."

With that simple statement, Peter somehow clarified everything. Sylar had an odd moment of vertigo, like Peter had somehow used Sylar's ability to understand things, pinpointed the problem, and shined a light on it. Sylar suddenly saw how to fix it; how to fix all of the problems they'd been having recently. Peter wanted to be special and Sylar connected with that perfectly. "Then I won't say things like that anymore."


	5. Getting It Right

Peter cupped Sylar's chin and leaned in a slow, gradual motion that left no doubt about what he was intending to do, in case Sylar wanted to pull away or opt out. Sylar met him instead. Peter's lips pillowed against Sylar's and he cocked his head to increase the contact. A tremor ran through Sylar, accompanied by a sharp intake of breath and then rapid pants through his nose. Sylar's hands fisted in Peter's shirt. Peter's hand pressed against the side of Sylar's knee, pulling it to the side so he could slide between them, riding on the surge of passion that moved both of them. Peter's other hand drifted from chin to shoulder, where it bunched the yielding fabric in a twin of Sylar's grip. He groaned as his breathing deepened, his cock stiffened rapidly in his jeans, and his skin flushed with warmth.

"Bed," Peter said when he came up for air.

Sylar nodded and they shoved the chairs out of the way in their rush to the narrow mattress of the single bed. Sylar climbed on first, squatting on his knees and turning back to reach for Peter, half pulling him onto the bed in his encouraging haste. They joined at the mouth again in hungry desire, leaving their bodies to work out the geometry. Peter slid one knee between Sylar's legs and scooted close, his arms warring briefly with Sylar's for top placement. He rose up; gaining height and winning the battle, bending Sylar back as he took the opportunity to plunge his tongue inside Sylar's willing mouth.

A keening moan answered him and Peter groaned again, voice and hands shaking a little. He couldn't believe this was happening, but it was. Peter grabbed the long hair at the back of Sylar's head with both hands, making fists and drawing him back so Peter could run his teeth from the underside of chin over Adam's apple and to the join of the collarbone. Sylar whined and his body bucked involuntarily. The air was too hot, too stifling, and they were both wearing far too many clothes.

Peter let go and worked Sylar's shirt as fast as he could. Apparently it wasn't fast enough – Sylar ripped it off after only two buttons were out of the way, then hoisted his under-shirt over his head. Peter pushed Sylar over backwards, narrowly avoiding racking himself on Sylar's knee as the taller man tried to get himself sorted out with Peter climbing aggressively on top of him. As he worked his way up, Peter bit him on the sensitive skin over the short ribs, evoking a surprised yelp and a jerk. He grinned at Sylar, seeing a matching expression of desire. It sent a surge through him so hard that he paused to rut mindlessly against Sylar's thigh, eyes sliding shut to imprison that lusty image for a moment longer.

Sylar's fingers brought him out of it, tugging at the sides of his long-sleeved shirt. Peter bowed his back and let the other man pull it off over his head and toss it aside, before diving back to the glory of Sylar's hirsute chest. He buried his face in the thickest part of curly hair, scratching his face back and forth against it and sucking in lungfuls of the man's scent. Sylar's hands cradled and stroked his head, fondling hair in return. Long legs folded around Peter's hips, pressing a hardened length into his abdomen. He shifted to rub his own erection against Sylar's groin. Sylar's mouth gaped open as he breathed harder. Peter bent to lick at a nipple, getting a twitch of incredible responsiveness. He licked the other as well, giving it a brief kiss and hearing a whimper from his partner.

Peter pushed forward in a long, hard thrust, rubbing himself against Sylar so hard that it hurt his dick a little where the pressure was greatest. As they kissed, Peter felt Sylar's hands smooth up and down his back, coming to rest over his denim-clad buttocks and circling around them. Sylar was starting to move against him in a regular motion, grinding them together. Peter shut his eyes in bliss, rolling with it until he couldn't stand it anymore. He had to have more! He pushed up and away, scooting back with the intention of ridding himself of his jeans.

Misunderstanding Peter's sudden departure, Sylar sat up, face paling, brows drawn together in hurt. He grabbed both of Peter's forearms, but Peter twisted free of the half-hearted grip, confused by the interference. "Peter?" One look at Sylar's panicked face explained the grabbiness.

"Oh no, I'm not done." Bracing himself on the wall with one hand, Peter leaned forward to snake the other behind Sylar's neck, forcing him forward into a deep, punishing kiss, plundering the man's mouth until he felt Sylar's tension melting away – his breathing came easier, his hands started stroking up and down Peter's bare chest, and he yielded to the kiss eagerly. Long, skillful fingers found Peter's nipples and pinched them between thumb and forefinger, making him growl deep in his throat and press into the man harder.

Peter parted from him, hand rising into Sylar's hair, clenching and unclenching mindlessly as he savored the taste of Sylar's mouth still lingering on his lips. He wanted to jerk Sylar around by that hair, control and direct him, but that was something to ask permission for some other time. At the moment, Peter didn't want to complicate things by pushing for things Sylar might not want done. Shifting his weight, Peter let go and put his hands on Sylar's shoulders to guide him to face away. "I want to see your ass," Peter murmured, kissing down Sylar's back, one hand tickling along the man's side while the other, on the wall, supported him.

Sylar's free hand went to his waist, unbuttoning his pants and pulling them open. Peter sat back, using both hands to peel the pants and underwear off, rolling and scrunching them down Sylar's thighs and helping him wriggle out of one leg. One leg was all he had patience for before wetly kissing the man's posterior, then biting it hard enough to leave a mark. How he'd dreamed of having this! Sylar jerked under him with a sudden noise, spreading his legs further instinctively. Peter reached underneath and fondled his balls, hearing Sylar whimper and seeing him drop his shoulders to the mattress, yanking over a pillow to bury his face in.

He was fully presented and it was so fucking sexy that Peter tore at his jeans, opening them and shoving them down the bare minimum to free his aching cock. It was full and rock hard, filling his hand and making him gasp with relief as he began to stroke it. His other hand went to Sylar's hip and then his buttock, kneading him as Peter pumped his straining organ. He spread Sylar's crack to the side, watching the skin pull and feeling Sylar tremble at his touch. "You like this?" he asked, wanting and needing to know that Sylar was a willing and enthusiastic participant in what Peter was doing to him. Sylar nodded with a vigorous enough motion to leave no room for doubt. Peter rubbed the head of his cock on Sylar's cheek while his hand worked the shaft. He wasn't going to last long – he could tell that much. Peter stuck his thumb in his mouth, coating it copiously before placing it against the center of Sylar's opening, rubbing in a lewd circle, watching the give and quiver of the flesh as his grip tightened and sped up on his dick.

He could hear Sylar's breath catch as the man rocked back into him, pressing hard enough that Peter's thumb breached him. Sylar made a muffled cry into the pillow as his ass spasmed around Peter's digit. He jerked furiously at his dick, the fingers of his other hand splayed over the sacrum of Sylar's back as he wiggled his thumb, provoking more noises from Sylar, pitching higher as Sylar spread his legs another inch and flattened himself even further in the most abject submission possible.

Peter tugged at the flesh with his thumb, watching as the sphincter relaxed enough for him to pull it to one side slightly, stretching the pink skin. He couldn't wait until he got to bury his cock to the hilt in that hole. But for now it was enough to see Sylar in full prostration, begging for a fucking he wasn't going to get. Not only was there the issue that Peter wouldn't penetrate him without more explicit permission than he was going to ask for in the middle of the act, but he also liked the control. The head rush of imagining he was denying Sylar the satisfaction of being directly responsible for getting Peter off turned him on like crazy. It pushed him over the edge and lit him up inside. Ejaculate spurted and gushed from his dick onto Sylar's ass cheek, spattering him with his come.

Peter slumped away for the moment, leaving his left hand where it was at, thumb still inside Sylar's hot body. He felt so good, so complete, and more willing to see to Sylar's pleasure than he'd ever been before. He'd gotten off without having to do the least bit for Sylar and paradoxically, that left him feeling overwhelmingly generous. Sylar whined quietly. He might have sobbed, and if he were feeling neglected, that _would not do_. "I've got you, baby," Peter murmured, reaching between Sylar's opened legs to caress his dangling, swollen penis, stroking it softly and tenderly. Now Sylar definitely made a noise like a sob and hunched his hips involuntarily. Peter withdrew his thumb, spat on his fingers and returned them, slowly working them inside Sylar's anus with slow twists of his wrist. Sylar's ass came back towards Peter in response, his toes curling and skin flushing. The man was gasping.

"Oh yeah," Peter breathed. "You're so close, Sylar. I've got you." He stroked his fingers lazily around the rounded head of Sylar's dick, still not giving him enough pressure or friction to get him off. "Not quite yet. I want you to ride the edge for a little longer if you can." Peter had come so quick. He wanted to give Sylar more than he'd gotten himself.

Sylar squirmed, hissing out, "Yesss," as he thrust back onto Peter's fingers, pushing them fully inside of his body.

Peter hooked them down, finding the tender, over-sensitive bulb of flesh he was looking for and hearing Sylar's instant reaction, another gasp and full body shudder. "Oh yeah. Right there." Peter gripped harder now, slowly working Sylar's cock in his fist while his other hand milked his prostate. "You got it." It was mere seconds before the asshole clenched around his fingers and hot sperm shot over his other hand.

Peter pulled his fingers out slowly and found Sylar's ruined shirt to wipe himself off. He scrubbed his jism off Sylar's ass as well and tucked himself away, loosely pulling his jeans back up. Sylar shoved off the last leg of his pants, clad now only in socks. Peter kicked off his shoes, unaware of when Sylar had lost his, or if he'd even worn any to start with. Sylar turned so he could stare at Peter, eyes wide and utterly vulnerable. Sylar's fingers curled tensely into the sheets, white-knuckled and the man probably didn't even realize it. Peter climbed back on the narrow bed and hugged him close, giving him a long, tender kiss followed by holding Sylar's chin by thumb and forefinger so he could peck lightly across his cheeks and nose. "You okay?"

The answer looked like a very complicated 'maybe'. Sylar badly faked a smile and nodded. He touched Peter's sides with very slight plucking motions. Peter embraced him again, whispering into his ear, "It's going to be okay." A whole bunch of things were suddenly making sense. He wondered how much of Sylar's insults were fueled by insecure bravado - he suspected all or nearly all. "You ever done something like this before?"

The immediacy of the moment loosened Sylar's tongue more than usual. "Not like this. Never like this."

"Did I hurt you? We don't don't have to do that again. Nothing like it."

"No!" Sylar jerked back from the hug to kiss Peter with sudden, unrestrained fervor. "Again. I want to do that again," he said when they parted.

Peter looked at him for a moment of stillness, with Sylar looking back and forth between his eyes and only inches away. Peter nodded. Sylar started breathing hard and with deep, great gusts like he was trying to get his breath after too long of tense, shallow panting.

Peter sorted out the covers enough to wedge his feet under them and tug up a layer over the both of them. He moved up a few inches on the bed to wrap an arm around Sylar's shoulders, kissing him on the forehead and rubbing his cheek on Sylar's crown. His breathing winding back to normal, Sylar sank forward against him, letting his forehead rest on Peter's chest. Peter pulled over the pillow and cocked it so they could both use it, then shut his eyes and let himself let go, flying high on endorphins. "Gonna be okay," he murmured to Sylar, who answered equally quiet and low, "Yes, I think it will be."


	6. Getting It For Real

**A/N: Means2bhuman wrote this incredible conclusion to the Getting It series with Sylar's point of view, set immediately after the previous chapter.**

Peter called him baby. Through the ocean-like waves of pleasure that had assaulted every nerve in him, Sylar had heard and latched onto that word.

As completely insulting as that should have been…it kind of melted him. Sylar supposed that's what most people, men or women, did – moved past the insinuation of infantilism and accepted and enjoyed it as a term of endearment. Did that mean Peter wanted to protect and care for him, then? It was certainly a possessive thing to imply and Sylar liked possession – doing it and receiving it.

Peter had certainly done a fabulous job earlier. The act had felt…well, real. Tender and desirous and immediate. Finally, at long last, it had worked out. It wasn't quite the joining of flesh he'd…anticipated? Wanted perhaps? (Sylar wondered why he might want it and since Peter clearly did, why he hadn't consummated the deed). But it was a very good substitute. Sylar didn't think he'd ever wanted something – someone – in him so badly. The urge, the need, the itch, whatever it was, terrified and thrilled him. It was a shock and catharsis at once. The need still pulsed through him.

Rested, calmed, Sylar became aware of the aromatic, sticky, hard body snug against him, on top of him in most places, actually. He felt like he'd just been fed; it had filled him, he'd digested and now he wanted more. He wanted it again, the same way, a different way, it didn't matter. His sexual desire hadn't been quiet per se, but now it was a roaring appetite, only just whetted.

He purred to himself, squirming lightly, deliciously, pressing his face into the firm chest below him. He inhaled and mouthed it gently, feeling naughty as he did. Peter was…pungent; salty; divine. He wanted to roll around in Peter for the sake of the smell. His appetite might be more fleshy than he'd realized and he chuckled privately.

Peter stirred, making a cute 'waking up' sound and he felt a hand slide into his hair, seemingly innocent. Pure physical need sliced through him and he was helpless. His mind churned on ideas both evil and erotic for what that hand could…would…might…do in his hair, with the power to direct his head. Sylar gasped a hot puff of air against the Italian's skin, waiting. It was all he could do not to reflexively whine and writhe his lower half even as his cock twitched.

The fingers passed through his locks, petting him as Peter's breathing awoke with him. The motion had Sylar's eyes rolling back; it was so simple, so good. Peter had replaced his pants before lying down. Sylar felt foiled – he hadn't seen the man naked yet and that just wasn't fair. The nipple inches from his mouth was distraction enough for the moment; after all, molesting these buds had earned him a growl and some grinding last time. Sylar licked then gave a prolonged, soft suck to the pink flesh.

Peter twitched a little and hummed appreciatively, causing Sylar to smirk into his chest. Since Peter was awake and still interested, Sylar lightly trailed a hand from Peter's knee up to his inner thigh, squeezing there once, waiting for the reaction with his head down. The advantage of being this close to Peter' chest was obvious; he heard, saw and felt the response and it was a good one. Looking up at his new partner, Sylar's chin somewhat intentionally scraped the nipple below and he was in time to see it drop Peter's sexy mouth open. Oh, this was perfect. Sylar could feel himself hard and more ready then he ever remembered being.

"It's your turn," he rasped simply, phrasing it more politely than he felt. "I want to see it." And by 'it,' he meant Peter's dick, his ass, his hot little body. His hand crept around the man's covered groin, dipping between his legs to clutch at his thigh. He didn't know if this would be allowed; he didn't know if Peter was interested in letting himself be viewed (historically, Peter seemed pretty open to that sort of thing but…well, things had changed. A lot. Maybe this was different, too. Sylar wasn't too sure of his role or his boundaries yet but he asked anyway).

Peter nodded and brought his hands down to shuck his pants; Sylar propped himself up on an elbow to assist. No underwear, he noted, and God, that was hot; almost as if Peter had come prepared, knowing what would happen, planning for it maybe. Peter's dick was struggling to swell again so soon after the first round, but that wasn't important. Yet. Sylar exhaled his triumph and wonder at the sight, the experience. The empath's penis lay swollen, but not yet hard, against his right hip on a, dare he say it, cute patch of pubic hair, dark and fluffy. Peter's hand caressed his back as he, too, watched and waited, giving no commands (again, not yet), making no demands and setting no boundaries. Sylar was free to explore.

He didn't know where to begin. As he stared, he saw the organ twitch and that drove him to action. Extending his hand, he grasped the other man's penis – Peter's dick. It was hot and soft to the touch, still a little squishy. He heard Peter suck in air and let it out in a pant of breath – aroused and eager and that was perfection. He looked up at his catch, seeing wide hazel-brown eyes and an open, moist pink mouth. It was too much. Sylar shifted up and snatched a kiss, gentle but passionate (for now). As he did so, his hand began to stroke, pulling up then pushing down to force blood in where he wanted it. Peter moaned into his mouth and Sylar took it and swallowed the sound, watching to see the man's frown line disappear in the ecstasy his hand provided. This was too easy. Separating them regretfully, he turned back to view his spoils, this time tracing a thumb tenderly around the ring of the mauve corona as it filled. Next that same thumb slid up from underneath the crown, messily disturbing the bead of sticky precum to smear it around. Peter hummed something of a whine in the back of his throat, clutching at his neck and shoulder now. Meanwhile, Sylar's own prick was snug between his pelvis and Peter's bony hip but he was too focused to roll his hips or hump his partner for stimulation, not when he was playing in Peter Petrelli's sexual playground.

Peter got stiff faster than Sylar anticipated; within moments he held a solid tool, sticky and a little wet. Sylar kissed the man's chest several times until Peter sat up, moving to the middle of the bed, "Come on, come here," he gestured for Sylar, who followed, getting to his knees. The hand on Sylar's dick drove his hips forward on instinct, pressing into the sensation once again. When he was within range, Peter took his mouth. Sylar closed his eyes and leaned into the kiss, trusting his limbs to situate themselves around Peter without the use of sight. He straddled Peter, cupping his face, melting into the other man's passionate lips. Letting Peter lead the kiss, sucking and smooching on his lips, less hasty and rough than before but just as hot, just as good, Sylar shifted his lower half around to see what was what. Peter's dick lay between his cheeks, behind him, hot, hard and alive. It should have been threatening, terrifying, and it was, but he overcame it by wanting, perhaps needing Peter's mouth on him more. Sitting on Peter's cock wouldn't be so bad at all if he did anything like what he'd done before – Sylar longed to shove the little man's face into his chest and neck and watch him work.

For now, Peter's hands were stroking down his back, nudging his chin up with his nose to molest his throat. Sylar was panting, clutching at Peter's head and neck. Either driven by instinct, habit or awareness, Peter seemed to know what he needed and Sylar let him provide it – nibbles and heated breaths, hard hickeys, tender licks and kisses, tasting him. It was the utter vulnerability and intimacy that did it for him, exposing himself and receiving pleasure for it. Yes, some part of him wanted it rougher. This was…new and definitely worth a try. When Peter seemed content to settle in where he was and not proceed, Sylar grew impatient. He'd been waiting for this for so long and he wasn't going to let Peter draw things out again. Spreading his legs, he ground his groin and buttocks down against Peter's erection, still a warm, stiff bar against him. He could feel the round ridge rubbing and bumping at his opening. At last, he heard Peter exhale heavily against his clavicle – yes, this was what he wanted. Sylar wanted him overcome and ready to fuck him apart.

When a simple back and forth became redundant, Sylar gyrated on his partner's cock until his message couldn't be clearer. He petted at Peter's hair and neck, both were soft and tempting. The body heat between them and the various sensations were ramping up his arousal to a boil; it would be easy to climax just like this but that wasn't the plan. Rising up to his knees, releasing the man's dick to stand straighter, forcing Peter's head back and out of reach of his throat, Sylar gripped him by the hair and head until they looked the other in the eyes. "Give it to me," he rasped his demand before dipping down to wetly suck on that pouty lower lip. Rapidly, he was spinning out of control, lust sliding and pumping through his veins.

Peter grunted and grabbed at his ass cheeks, causing Sylar to thrust forward and down – dick pressing against Peter's abdomen and releasing a noise of want. The grip was tight, the cock was hard and the lip in his mouth was sweet, so sweet that he bit it several times, listening to Peter's sounds of reluctant approval, his chest heaving just as much as Sylar's. When Sylar released him with a lewd pop, smirking about that, Peter growled, "Lube." It was so demanding, Sylar ran his hand through Peter's hair again, ruffling it, caressing his shoulder before shoving it so Peter was pushed flat to the bed. There he stayed as Sylar made the trip to the bathroom for his bottle of lotion. It felt a little strange to be doing this, but he needed to test if the sex, the treatment, the relationship, the emotion was consistent the second time. That and he wanted another hit of that drug-like feeling. Peter had touched him just about everywhere and none of it had been bad. The relief within him left him nearly shaking; it felt like hope, it felt like a tiny bit of comfort or safety perhaps, or those things might come later. It felt so, so good. And that was the best he could describe it – _good_. Being kissed and caressed, brought off - he'd gotten something of a hand job!

Peter was idly petting his dick when Sylar returned, looking like an especially scrumptious dessert, laid out silky and warm for him to devour, keeping himself at the perfect temperature for it. Sylar straddled him again, practically shoving the bottle into the man's hand. Peter sat back up, touching his sides before he took it, kissing him once more, the slowest yet until Sylar couldn't tell if Peter was winding himself down or winding Sylar up. He must have made a noise because Peter finally moved to open the lotion and smear it between Sylar's legs. He hissed, equal parts aroused and unnerved. The gel was cold and clingy. Finally Peter was touching him there. All his seductions were being consummated in full. What made it better was Peter teasing all around his opening – it took his breath away and made him grab onto Peter for stability or comfort. It nearly tickled, those fingers caressing his asshole, clutching his cheeks; it felt utterly wicked, a little violating but there was more naughtiness to overwhelm it. He was nervous but Peter didn't hesitate.

A few moments filled with distracted kisses and heavy breathing led to Peter sliding a well-slicked finger inside him. It felt ridiculously easy, that first finger. This was it; it was really going to happen and Sylar was going to allow it. The empath's other hand roamed over his back while the finger began to pump in and out. The rhythm alone was wonderful but the second finger was a sweet ache, the third a delicious pain-tinged burn. He couldn't believe he was so full and there was still – hopefully – more to come. Slowly, Sylar inched his hips around, getting a feel for the fingers.

"Do you have condoms?" Peter rasped, fingers still lodged inside him.

"No!" Sylar replied eagerly, not giving a fuck.

"But-"

"No, shh…" Sylar kissed him, sucking his lip again, mauling his throat to distract him. "Just give it to me." He could try to deny the need (the begging) in his voice but it wouldn't do much good. He needed the domination, the ownership, the completion of the act as he understood it.

Sylar's hand went down to remove the hand inside him, grasping the upthrust shaft below to guide it into place. Briefly their eyes met the instant before Sylar speared himself. Peter gripped his hip and back, holding his breath at odd moments to focus. The man's concentrating frown was appealing. Sylar's mouth opened as he accepted the breach, wrapping himself around the head of Peter's cock, driving it deeper with the weight of his body, consuming the other man's flesh. "Ah….Oh….Ooh…"

It burned and stretched on the way in and his muscles gripped Peter tight as he held the man around his neck and shoulders. The rigid prick was submerged in him completely and thus Sylar felt he had enough control that he didn't worry about Peter thrusting before he adjusted. It was hot, thick and the angle was different than anything he'd ever had before, the closeness was an aphrodisiac, the smell of Peter this close…

The lotion made it easy; already Sylar could tell that Peter would be able to thrust for long minutes without discomfort. This going on inside him was both distantly gross and erotic. He petted Peter's hair, grateful and concerned about the wait he was causing. Peter, in turn, massaged his buttocks, spreading and relaxing them, gently urging him to wriggle forward and back over his penis. Sylar panted, "Uhh!"

As if that was a signal, Peter moved him in earnest, setting an urgent yet sensual pace. The cockhead deep inside thrust him open as it entered and retreated. Sylar's dick was straight, stiff, dripping, rubbing, poking into his partner. His hand wandered up to the back of Peter's head and the man dipped down to nip at his collarbone.

"Aah! Uhmm!" Sylar couldn't help his noise and didn't feel that he should. Peter did this on purpose and stimulation was impossible to avoid.

"Yeah…" Peter growled into his skin, so close Sylar could feel the vibration. A shift of his hand and Peter was mouthing at his chest, obviously not minding the hair at all, seeming to revel in it. The heat between their bodies was intense. Sylar's eyes and head rolled back, eagerly humping his ass onto the sexy medic, roughly murmuring, "Fuck…Oh, God…Oh, God…Oh, God…Fuck! Peter! _Fuck_!"

With that lopsided mouth on his chest, a hand now fisting and twisting on his dick, the other hand with questing fingers down the cleft of his ass, Sylar cried out and burst. His load splattered over Peter's torso and his rectum clenched until the relentless thrusts edged on a fantastic level of pleasure-pain that was almost too much. "Uuuh…" Sylar was adrift, his head felt opened; he throbbed and ached and shook with after effects. Oh, it was everything he'd worked for and desired.

"Baby…Fuck, yeah!" Peter grunted, lusty and approaching his own peak, still working and grinding Sylar about on his swollen dick. Lazily, Sylar petted his hair and kissed him where he could, awaiting the other man's orgasm, needing it to be fulfilled. Peter jerked, paused, spasmed and throbbed within him, undoubtedly spilling his own seed.

Content, Sylar impulsively licked the sweaty cheek before him, rubbing his own cheek against him and cradling the man's head to him, "Mm!" he purred, bumping his nose against Peter's neck to better smell him. Together they smelled strong, male, definitely sexual and active. The smaller man pulled him back and to the side until they lay beside each other, arms entwined once again. It dislodged Peter from inside him and he gasped at the empty feeling. He definitely wanted to shower but it could wait a few moments at least. He felt possessed and claimed, the act of taking another man's organ inside himself and allowing himself to be pleasured by it, and he wasn't freaking out about the sperm issue (perhaps because Peter had jizzed on him before); it was strangely calming; he felt…human and welcome. He petted Peter's chest and hair, kissing and smelling his deltoid as his partner's breathing wound down as well.

Grateful and relieved, Sylar was surprised at himself but wasn't afraid to say, "That was definitely okay." Being Peter's baby would have some very nice perks.


End file.
